Erotic Writing. - The Husband

I was staying in a red light district hotel, having just moved out of my parents house under some duress at the age of barely 18. I was laying on the floor one night after work resting my back, and spied a slim volume of quite literally pulp fiction. It was printed on newsprint with a 2 color cover. It captivated me. It was the only erotica I had read other than Mom's Sydney Sheldons, and a battered copy of Judy Bloom's "Wifey" that i found in the alley behind our house . The tale in the found paperback involved an older woman (never called M.I.L.F.'s in those days.) She finds herself blackmailed in some improbable way and is in the broom closet or pantry with her son's friend with a cucumber equally improbably placed. To this day when running into such insertions I find such pics compelling. The element that one would think would have been the biggest turn off was the whole mother angle, given that I had no oedipal urges and, well, enough matriarchal loathing to hang out with Stewie Griffen.

I was rescued from skid row by my grandparents who heard of my new address and offered the basement room where they took in un-wed expectant mothers. (sadly, none were extant on the premises at the time of my visit.) I stayed there about three weeks when suddenly with no pre-amble but an elbow to the ribs from grandma, grandpa coughed out, "So, did you have any luck looking for an apartment today." By this I took it to mean that my bitch of a mother was giving grandma grief over giving shelter to her grandchild.

I exchanged my previous motel on skid row this time for one that backed to an "Adult" bookstore. (Said so right on the sign - Modern World Adult Bookstore)

I nervously went in, since the legal drinking age had been recently raised from 18 to 21 before I had a chance to choose not to imbibe, I wasn't sure if this rule extended to smut as well. I was skinny and very young looking and expected to be thrown out before I could memorize all the covers with the few furtive glances I cast about. I grabbed Tongue Lashing Susan a tale as I later found out was about a very friendly but driven nurse with an oral fixation. I grabbed this paid for it in cash and practically ran back to my room. As I read of Susan's exploits, I thought not at all about the fact that my mothers training and once a week shift at the hospital was as an R.N.

A year or so later during a nine day stay in the orthopedic ward of a hospital after a losing argument between my motorcycle and a 4 wheeled vehicle, I thought of it again. Interestingly I wonder if I projected that, or perhaps she noticed some hint of my ardor during my sponge baths because I did get a little tongue, but no lashing from my nurse that may well have been named Susan. In my mind the two figures merged when she kissed me. I can no longer remember if the Nurse or the girl in the book was named Susan. I am not sure it matters. ~fond smile~